


Behold, an Ashen Horse

by wmthackeray



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: That's it, That's the Reason, this came out of me being blown away by arya's general presence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wmthackeray/pseuds/wmthackeray
Summary: An ashen horse, and he who sat on it had the name Death.





	Behold, an Ashen Horse

**Author's Note:**

> first time for a few things here! first GOT fic, first fic ever in general. just wanted to get inside this girl's head a little. written right after 8x05.

She looks, and beholds a horse that once was white, now a dirty gray. Its legs are splattered with gore, though its hide seems whole, the ash slowly falling around them coating the rest of its body. A warrior, then. Impervious to death’s best attempts. It feels, shockingly, like looking into a mirror.

A story she does not remember being told floats through her mind. 

An ashen horse, and he who sat on it had the name Death. 

But then again, Death is all around her. Death is a part of her. She has stared him in the face as many times as she has her own. And yet, she lives. 

And there she is. Surrounded by the dead and the dying in this godforsaken golden city that is now nothing but ash. Death heavy in the air, heavy in her heart. And a fucking horse in front of her like an offering from gods she has long forsaken. 

How nice would it be to ride a horse of the Dothraki to kill the Khaleesi? Poetic, she imagines. But can she even do it? A hysterical laugh rips itself from her throat. The horse spooks, but she is quick to comfort it, hand trailing back and forth across its neck. 

How the fuck was she going to get on this horse without a saddle? 

Right, she thinks, if this is the thing that undoes her today, she deserves to die a boring, miserable death. 

But she does it, overpowering the way her vision blurs when she does anything but stand still. She and this horse trot through the now quiet streets; no one alive to moan or call for help.

These people, some of whom had certainly cheered for her father’s death years ago, relishing the blood from his corpse as it coated the stones under their feet, are dead. She has seen them bleed and burn and die in ways she had never thought about, even when she was in the employ of killers. A war they did not understand, did not ask for, had no part in.

But she had never wished it for them, she knows now. Death is not meant to be delivered like this. It never was. Not by an army of the undead, not by a woman who calls herself a Queen who rides a dragon. Not even by a girl with a list.

The revenge she considers taking upon the Dragon Queen is different than the kind she has rode to Kings Landing with. The kind that has fueled her for half of her life; the selfish need to feel the life ebb out of Cersei Lannister, the cold queen who ruined everything. And yet, she always knew it would never be enough. The Hound had said as much, and perhaps that is why she was inclined to believe him. He was probably dead, that miserable shit. She hopes it was something dramatic, something with fire. Hopes he at least took his disgusting mass of a brother with him.

She turns her eyes to the sky, seeing the massive black and red dragon finally retreat, though certainly not for long. She wonders what it will do if it no longer has a rider, a tamer, a mother. Well, she’s done just fine without those things. Perhaps it’ll fly away after this is done. 

A nice idea, she thinks, flying away. She nudges the horse into a canter, and they leave the dead behind. 

An ashen horse, and she who sits on it has the name Death.


End file.
